Post-Apocalyptic Shards
by At Some Actor's West Side Loft
Summary: A bit of a darker take on what happens to people in the aftermath of the second Wizarding War. Won't be entirely angst ridden. Slight Weasley bashing, but not too much. Narrated in second person, from Hermione's P.O.V. Eventually will be H/HR. I can't keep those two apart. M for a bit of drug use, language, and sex.
1. Getting Ready-Hermione

You get dolled up for this fucking Hogwarts Remembrance Ball.

The enchanted mirror says, "You look lovely!"

In the mirror, you—the real, flesh and blood Hermione Granger—see a mentally scarred, fucked up 25 year old.

You always wondered how Moody became so paranoid. Now you know. Seeing a snake burst out of a decaying, reanimated body will wreck your brain, will make your hand twitch for your wand when you see a senior citizen look at you the wrong way at the market.

You frighten your family. Your parents struggle to say "I love you" now, and affectionate pet names like love, dear, and sweetheart never exit their mouths.

So you rely on experience. You've coped with loneliness and borderline depression before. You drown yourself in books, in work.

It would be a sight easier if you could fall out of love with your best friend.

No, not your boyfriend. Or, if you're being brutally honest, your soon to be ex boyfriend. Your other best friend.

Jealousy is a hunger, and it gnaws at your bones for nourishment.

You never thought such a petty emotion could overwhelm your calculating, logical mind.

But you're left adding things up in an irrational equation.

_"Doesn't he get it? I fucking Obliviated my parents for him! I wouldn't do that for just anyone!"_

You know you've gone batty as Bellatrix when you hiss, "He owes me."

The catchphrase of deluded witches and wizards everywhere. As if you could loan someone five galleons and then ask for them to date you as proper compensation.

Ron comes in, plants a kiss on your cheek. Glances at the glass of vodka and—well, there's two or three drops of Sprite, so you can call it a mixed drink, right?

"Merlin, I could use a drink too, since we're gonna be dealing with the press and everything," he scowls.

"Yep," you reply, going along with both of his lies. One, you're drinking since dealing with the stress of PTSD and Mer—God knows what else occasionally bitch slaps your desire to remain sober. Two, the Weasley clan has—unlike you—embraced the fame that came with their part in "The Triumph of the Light," despite their façade that they disliked the publicity.

That caveat—"unlike you"—fits so much of your miserable life right now.

You do not fit in with the Weasleys. You do not stuff your face at every meal, you do not think juvenile humor serves as an unending source of laughs. You do not act like a maid—you do not cook and clean for everyone in exchange for little more than a few, one second thank you's.

You thought you could tolerate them, keep them at arm's length by living in a flat near the Ministry. But Molly insists that you stop by for dinner constantly, and Ron's stomach acquiesces to her demands more often than not, and _of course_ most of the others stop by, too, so then you're One Big Happy Weasley Family.

Every witch's dream, right?

Once Ron leaves your room, you finish your drink, pour a shot—you've gotten damn good at measuring, even without shot glasses—and down it.

You want the Mirror of Erised. Sure, you don't know what your heart's greatest desire is, but you need tangible proof that this life doesn't fucking qualify as it.


	2. Getting Ready-Harry

You scowl as you put on the suit and wish you could _Diffindo _it into black and white ribbons.

Balls, funerals, a couple weddings…you wear it too often for your liking.

Ginny coos, "But you look so handsome, dear!"

"Thanks, love," you murmur before pressing a perfunctory kiss to her cheek.

"It'll be so nice to catch up with everyone, Quidditch just keeps a girl so busy! I heard Padma and Lavender are buying more shops outside London and expanding their business quite nicely…"

You don't hear the rest of it. Ok, really, you don't listen to the rest of it.

You know you should be thankful that Ginny Weasley is your girlfriend. She's sweet, funny, marvelous in bed…

"_But still not good enough for the famous Harry Potter?"_ his inner voice sneers in a spot on Malfoy imitation.

_"It's not that she's not good enough…" _you think to yourself as you rush downstairs. You can probably grab a stiff drink before you leave if you hurry up. _"Just not…what I expected?"_

You thought Ginny would…

You can't articulate precisely what you want, but you know that ignoring your girlfriend because most of her mindless chatter circles around Quidditch and gossip is hardly a good thing.

And you try to push it out of your mind as you Apparate to Hogwarts (they actually lifted the non-Apparition wards for the event) because you don't wanna end up splinched. But as the yank in your navel arrives, you realize that what you want for the most part is important conversations and comfortable silences.


	3. At Hogwarts-Hermione

Magical cameras flash, but you don't mind too much. The trick is to cast a non-verbal _Impervius _spell—the disorienting effects are worth it when they block out all the foul, smarmy faces of the _Daily Prophet _reporters.

"Ms. Granger!"

"Hermione!"

You simper and smile in the direction of the voices.

"How do you like being back at Hogwarts, Ms. Granger?"

The rushed, eager quality of the voice reminds you a tad of Colin Creevey circa 2nd year, so you give an honest answer.

"I've…I've missed it, here and there. It's nice to come back, reminisce about old school days, things like that."

Ron attracts nearly as much attention as you, and he uses the free press to speak about some shop deals, and you—having heard catchphrases like "You'd be nuts to save your Knuts when prices are preposterously low!" at least eight times in the past two days—seize the chance to slink away, and you're going—where? The Astronomy Tower. If anyone asks, you can say you wanted some air.

A hunched over figure flits out of your vision. He—the legs aren't slender enough to belong to a woman—hurries up the staircase ahead of you. It's one of the moving ones. He darts down a corridor.

You (sensible as ever) chose to wear flats to this event: heels are a bitch. You chase him down fairly easily.

He turns, gives a smile. Or makes a face that's supposed to look friendly, maybe that's closer to the truth. "Lo, 'Mione."

You grab his arm. Not sure why. Possibly to stabilize yourself. He's a floating constant, a presence in your life despite his (always noticed) physical absence. "How are you, Harry?"

"Alright. Y'know, just working. Spending time with Gin and stuff." He rubs the back of his head and sends a tuft of hair skyward, and you almost laugh—he could be 14 again with that gesture. Except he's hunched over, his eyes are too bright since his skin's washed out, and his cloak hangs off him at odd angles.

"I actually don't know," you hiss. "You're never around the Burrow when I am anymore."

You wince. _"Ooh…bit accusatory there?"_

He puts his hands up and steps away. "Well, my hours are mad and-"

"How?" you demand. "Voldemort's gone, it surely can't be that bad, else I'd have heard some things too-"

He gives that maddening, short bark of a laugh, the only trait that ever makes you think he could've been a Slytherin. It's quick, but screams over and over, with the force and venom of a Howler, _"How d'you think you know anything?"_

"Well, there's plenty of shit going round that we don't want everyone getting up in arms about!" he spits. "Sure, nothing like Voldemort, but people start hearing things, they're all going to go mad." He's still observant, though, and tries to appease you. Of course he does. "I mean, we'd never be like Fudge and flat out deny information, but there are still some nutters out there, in other places." He sighs.

You snatch at his arm again. "Tell me. Everything. We can catch up in private, I'm sure."

He relents, and your heart pummels your rib cage with abnormal force when he answers, "Where?"

You tilt your head and grin…a Cheshire cat grin. Being back at Hogwarts—being with a certain member of the opposite sex, more specifically—has brought out some old traits. It's just you two on another adventure, right? "C'mon, follow me."


End file.
